Book Club
by poma14
Summary: In the wake of Matthew's death, Anna tries to cheer the house by forming a book club (you know the one she mentioned to Molesley in S2:E2). John is a reluctant participant, but ends up learning that being a good sport comes with its own rewards. Total crack story! Most of the downstairs characters (and Branson too!) make an appearance in this hopefully amusing one-shot.


_**A/N: So here's a bit of Downton crack! Completely non-angsty (no, really I mean it). Anna's rebuff of Molesley by mentioning they could start a reading group was one of my favorite Anna scenes. It got me thinking how incredibly fun and silly it would be to write such a group. Total crack, but I hope you enjoy it! **_

_**This is written for friend and fellow writer Ephoard in celebration of her birthday! I thought you'd enjoy the continuation of John's loathing of Dickens. Yay!**_

* * *

**Book Club**

John Bates loved his wife. Completely. Utterly. Without any reservation. There was nothing that he would not do for her. It was only through this absolute devotion that he found himself sitting in the Servants' Hall surrounded by his co-workers discussing one of the most atrocious books ever written.

* * *

It had all started about a month ago. The entire house was still reeling from the death of young Mr. Crawley. It had cast a pall over both upstairs and down. John hadn't known him all that well, but he had always been kind and considerate to both him and Anna especially during his trial and incarceration. Quite sad, really. He would have made a fine Earl. As much as he personally liked Robert and would always be indebted to him, Mr. Crawley had a head for business and seemed up to the challenges of modern times. John wasn't sure Robert was. After all he had blown Her Ladyship's entire fortune on Canadian railways. _Canadian Railways for Christ's sake!_

To lighten everyone's spirits, Anna had proposed a reading group, a book club of sorts. John couldn't help being a little miffed when she first mentioned it to him. Reading books then discussing them had been something they did together. Just the two of them. Alone.

They had started the practice soon after his arrest. Anna would bring him a novel one visit and then on the next they would spend part of her time discussing it. During those long days and even longer nights it had been his salvation. Conrad, Joyce, Wharton, Melville and the likes. Anna's choices were curious and varied. In some ways, it was his favorite part of her visit. For just a few minutes, he could forget where he was and pretend. He wasn't in an ancient jail that smelled of human rot anymore. He wasn't worrying about the outcome of his trial or whether they would ever figure out what happened to Vera. He could almost fool himself into believing he was in the Servant's Hall seated next to Anna, cup of tea in hand, discussing the finer points of The House of Seven Gables.

When he was released they continued their regular book discussions. The first Sunday of the month was their day of choice. Once all their work was complete and an escape possible, they made their way home and got comfortable. Sometimes they sat on the settee in front of the fire, other times at the kitchen table. They even tried in bed though they found it difficult to stay on topic in that locale. John loved these stolen moments with his wife. In their own home. Alone. Nobody else around. Stress of their jobs left at the front door. No mention of Lord Grantham or Lady Mary or how ridiculous the position of under-butler was or whether or not they would ever have enough money to buy an inn. These Sundays were divine.

Now Anna wanted to open up their private haven to the whole damned house. He knew she meant well. She told him she hated seeing people in sorrow. She had enough of that herself when he was away and didn't want others to suffer as she did. Despite his reservations, how could he not support her? She had suffered plenty. More than anyone should in a lifetime. And he had been the cause. No, John could never say no to her.

With his support confirmed, Anna next proposed the reading group to Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes over tea one afternoon.

"Oh, what a lovely idea," Mrs. Hughes declared. "I read quite a bit myself and would love to bounce my thoughts off others. I think it would be delightful. "

Delightful was not a word John would have used, but maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all. He liked and respected Mrs. Hughes. She had a sharp mind. He wouldn't mind hearing her out.

"I suppose such recreation would acceptable especially given the circumstances, but I must insist that we choose a selection that is both appropriate and respectable." Mr. Carson gave his tepid approval.

John had to consciously stop himself from rolling his eyes. Of course, they had to read something _appropriate and respectable_.

"What do you have in mind, Mr. Carson?" Anna asked diplomatically.

"I suggest we read the Great Bard himself. His work is for the ages. Respectable for a reading group from a house such as Downton."

All right. John could live with Shakespeare. While he wasn't a massive Shakespeare fan, he was quite fond of individual works. _King Lear_ was his all-time favorite; while _Much Ado About Nothing _could bring a smile to his face just thinking about it.

"Who's the Great Bard?" Daisy inquired in a clueless voice.

God bless her soul. John had to work even harder to keep his eyes from rolling.

"Why Shakespeare, of course. Just the greatest writer in the history of the English language," Mr. Carson replied haughtily.

A groan of skepticism came from Miss O'Brien. "I don't think I could stand reading all those 'thees' and 'dosts'. If you can't write how we speak, I don't want to read it."

There was a murmur of agreement from the younger maids and footmen. Literary appreciation alive and well downstairs. This time John did roll his eyes.

"All right," Mr. Carson acquiesced. "Perhaps we could read something a little less antiquated."

John held his breath. Could it be possible that they read something of the modern age? Oh, he knew Mr. Carson would never consent to the likes of D.H. Lawrence, Marcel Proust or even H.G. Wells, but maybe he might go for Tolstoy or Thomas Hardy or better yet a transcendentalist. Anna turned and gave him a hopeful smile.

"How about Britain's favorite son, Charles Dickens?"

John closed his eyes. God no, not Dickens . . . anyone but Dickens.

"Oh, I wouldn't mind reading another one of his novels," Mrs. Hughes said. "I really enjoyed Oliver Twistand _A Christmas Carol_."

"I love a Christmas Carol! My mum read it aloud each Christmas season growing up," Ivy chimed in.

"I guess I don't mind reading him. At least he writes about real people like us and not all about the pretty, rich folks." O'Brien threw in her support.

A general consensus rang through the room. Mrs. Patmore dropped in and offered to make her famous apple crumble for their meeting.

"Then it's settled; Dickens it is." Mr. Carson declared with finality. "How about _Great Expectations_? It's his greatest work."

"Mr. Carson," John sputtered out. "I think. . .

The butler narrowed his eyes and zeroed his hawk-like nose down on John. "You think what, Mr. Bates?

John felt a hand upon his knee. Anna gave a little squeeze. He glanced over at his wife. With an infinitesimal shake of the head and the shift of her eyes, she told him to stop. It's not worth protesting. He could survive reading Dickens.

John sighed. The battle wasn't worth fighting. "I . . . I think Dickens is an excellent choice," he choked the words out.

Mr. Carson nodded his approval and stood up. "I'm glad you think so. I'm sure you've read more than most of us combined. Now excuse me, I must ring the dressing gong." It was a done deal. They would read Dickens.

As he and Anna made their way upstairs, Anna tried to cheer him up. "It won't be so bad. I rather liked _Great Expectations_."

Maybe. But John was a pessimist by nature and given how much he deplored _David Copperfield_ . . . hell, he hadn't even finished the _Pickwick Papers_ . . . he wasn't sure he could survive reading _Great Expectations_. There's only so much a man can take in life. He had already been imprisoned twice. Crippled by war. Almost drank himself to death. Reading Dickens again just might about finish him off.

He looked down at Anna again and shook his head. Why was he even upset? For her, he would do anything . . . even read lousy Dickens.

* * *

He had done it. He had managed to slog his way through _Great Expectations_ in its entirety by the time of the inaugural book club. He sat with Anna and a strong cup of tea as they waited for the other participants to arrive.

"This is going to be fun," Anna smiled up at him. "Or at least it should prove to be highly entertaining."

John couldn't help but chuckle. "I already can see it; Mr. Carson and Miss O'Brien butting heads over why Miss Havisham still wears her wedding gown."

As if they heard John's remark, Mr. Carson and O'Brien entered the hall followed by Mrs. Hughes. Anna and John stood as Mr. Carson took his regular seat, as did the ladies.

Then Jimmy entered with a giggling maid on his heels. John wasn't sure of her name; she just started last week. Anna would know. All he knew was that when he stepped out into the courtyard a few nights ago, Jimmy was taking liberties with her in the shadows. He didn't tell Mr. Carson. It wasn't his style to tattle, but he didn't particularly appreciate the footman and maid fooling around out there. That was their place, him and Anna's. Yes, they may have a home of their own now, but the courtyard would always be special. He knew it was silly, but he couldn't help thinking Jimmy and the maid were sullying it somehow.

"I didn't know you knew how to read," O'Brien shot at Jimmy.

"I have many talents you don't know about," Jimmy declared with smirk and a wink at the nameless maid who giggled even more.

Next Thomas sauntered in, full of himself as usual, book in hand. Most people would have been a bit more humble after almost getting sacked last year, but not Thomas. If anything he was more pompous than ever as under-butler. What the hell had Mr. Carson been thinking? _Under-butler?_ John was still annoyed that such a position even existed. Was a game of cricket really worth Thomas's continued presence?

Jimmy looked over at Thomas as he set down next to him. "Did we need to bring a copy of the book with us? I . . . um . . . left mine upstairs."

"No worries," Thomas smiled amiably. "You can share my copy." He scooted his chair over closer to Jimmy and no-name maid.

God, could Thomas be any more obvious? Even though Thomas still managed to irate John on a regular basis, there was a part of John (albeit a very small part) that really did feel sorry for him. Unrequited love was never pretty. After the fight at the fair a couple months ago, a sincere friendship had begun building between the two men, but clearly that's the extent of Jimmy's affection. Friendship, nothing more. Thomas probably recognized that on some level, it just wasn't easy for his to actually accept it. He loved the other man and it was especially hard to let go of those feeling when you spend most of your waking hours around one another.

John should know. This was how it was for him during his first two years at Downton. He knew early on that he loved Anna. He wondered sometimes how lovesick he must have seemed to others: always sitting next to her, lending a hand with her work, managing to be in the courtyard at the same time. But John was lucky. By some miracle Anna had loved him back. Unfortunately Thomas would never be that lucky.

"All right everyone, why don't we get started. How about we begin by . . ." Anna began.

"Are you leading the discussion?" Mr. Carson questioned incredulously.

"Well, I thought I might. I've put together some questions and topics to touch on . . . that is unless anyone objects.

Mr. Carson looked like he very much objected.

"I think it might be better if I . . ."

He was interrupted by the quiet entrance of Tom Branson. He hovered nervously by the door. He had ditched his evening jacket and tie. He wore only his waistcoat. He didn't much different than when he had been the chauffer. All the servants quickly got to their feet.

"Please be seated." John knew he hated when they stood in his presence. At the same time, Branson had finally come to understand that it was the servant's job to do so even if he didn't agree they should.

As they took their seats, Branson continued, "Anna said it'd be all right if I joined the reading group. I think it's something I'd really enjoy. Things upstairs . . ." He seemed to catch himself, realizing it was not his place to take about the family to the staff. "Well, it's been hard since Matthew, I mean Mr. Crawley passed. It would be nice to escape with some intelligent conversation."

John could swear he heard O'Brien murmur, "Well, you've come to come to the wrong place."

Anna confirmed with Carson who gave a slight nod before answering with a friendly grin, "Of course you're welcome, Mr. Branson. Have a seat. I remember you led many a spirited debate down here."

"Thank you, Anna." Branson took a seat next to O'Brien. Poor bloke.

John had always liked the chauffer turned family member. Life at Downton hadn't been easy for him even before Lady Sybil died. He was doing his best to be a respectable member of the household, but if you looked hard enough revolutionary feathers could be seen peeking out. Tom Branson still believed in power to the masses even if it meant the end to the lifestyle he currently enjoyed. John could respect such opinions even if he didn't quite buy into Branson's "off with their head" mentality. The problem when you chopped off someone's head, you never knew who was going to take their place and the situation was often worse than before.

"All right, let's try again . . ." Anna tried again.

Heavy footsteps could be heard in the corridor. Everyone turned their heads toward the door. Mr. Molesley entered out of breath with his book in hand.

"I hope I'm not late," he choked out.

"No, no, Mr. Molesley. We haven't even begun. Come have a seat." Anna patted the seat next to her.

He grinned his thanks and made his way over. John could swear he was blushing.

Molesley was a nice man. Yes, a bit clumsy and sometimes stuck his foot in his mouth, but he was harmless and a good soul. A good worker too, which is why his current situation burned John. It was wrong what the family had done to him. After Mr. Crawley died, Lady Mary in her grief wanted nothing around that reminded her of him including Mr. Molesley. At first everyone assumed that he would return to his duties at Crawley House, but Mrs. Crawley decided to go on an extended travel holiday with an open-ended return date. So the house was closed up along with poor Molesley's job. They simply turned him out after years of service. John didn't understand how they could not come up with some position around the estate for him. Thomas had been made under-butler after all, but then again Molesley didn't excel at cricket. No, he was forced to a take a job tarring lanes in the village. The injustice incensed both John and Anna which is what prompted her to invite him to the reading group. He might enjoy the chance to socialize with his former co-workers that he now rarely saw.

"Now that we're all here, how about we start with first impressions? What did you think of the book?"

Silence. Everyone looked about the room. No one wanted to be the first speak. John definitely didn't want to. He wasn't sure he wanted to say anything the entire evening.

Molesley cleared his throat. "Well, I rather liked it. Pip was down and out many times in the book, but he ended up with Estella. He got his happy ending. It gives a man hope that someday his lot in life will improve."

Another silence fell, this time even more awkward. He wasn't just speaking of Pip, but of himself.

"Very true, Mr. Molesley," Anna broke the silence and sent Molesley another much needed smile. "This story can be seen as one of personal growth and triumph. Anyone else want to share their impressions?"

Daisy appeared with a large pan of apple crumble which she placed on the sideboard. She began to scoop up servings.

Branson took up the baton. "Well, I think it clearly demonstrates the oppression of the poor and how all our lives are dictated from birth by social class. Let's face it; most orphans aren't as lucky as Pip. They don't have a wealthy benefactor to turn them into gentleman."

"You don't need a benefactor if you elope with an Earl's daughter," breathed O'Brien. Branson heard. The whole room had heard.

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Branson challenged her, always ready for a fight. Maybe more so after being constrained by living upstairs.

"I just meant . . ."

"Miss O'Brien that will be enough," warned Mr. Carson.

"Ah, Jimmy . . ." Anna hoping to draw attention away from the ex-chauffer and lady's maid. "What did you think of the book?"

Jimmy spooned a big mouthful of apple crumble into his mouth. "Who me? Um . . . well . . . I thought it was . . . good."

"In what way?" Anna prodded him.

The footman shifted uncomfortably and pulled at his collar. "Well it's like Mr. Branson said you get to see how horrible it was for the poor people especially boys. I mean, they have to beg just to get some more gruel. How cruel is that?"

"I believe that happened in _Oliver Twist_, not _Great Expectations_," Mrs. Hughes pointed out.

"See I told you he didn't know how to read," O'Brien taunted.

"Oh shush," Anna shot daggers at Miss O'Brien before turning back to Jimmy. "It's all right, but why'd you come if you haven't read the book?"

"You want the truth?" Anna nodded. "I didn't want to miss out on Mrs. Patmore's apple crumble. It's my favorite and she hardly ever makes it for downstairs."

A snort of a laugh escaped John. He couldn't help it. It just slipped out. A swift kick in his good leg was his punishment. He grimaced down at Anna, his eyes still sparkling with amusement. Despite her serious demeanor, he knew she was seconds away from breaking down in laughter.

"Let's move on. Before I get to the questions I've prepared, does anyone have any questions or topics of their own they'd like to bring up?"

"I for one would like to know why Miss Havisham insists on wearing that ridiculous wedding dress day in and day out?" asked Mr. Carson.

"Isn't obvious? She was jilted by some no-good man." O'Brien sounded as if she spoke from experience.

"Oh, that's too simple. You have to be certifiably insane to dress that way."

"And she was driven to insanity . . . by a man."

John almost laughed again, but didn't risk the wrath of Anna's foot. Instead he took a bite of apple crumble as he watched the predicted fireworks begin to fly between the two. Anna had been right. This was turning out to be a highly entertaining.

* * *

"I'd say tonight was a success," Anna declared on the way home later that evening. Her arm rested lightly in the crook of his as they walked in a slow, matched step.

"It was indeed, my dear. I enjoyed it very much." The moon was bright and high in the night's sky. A cold breeze nipped at their necks reminding them that winter was just around the corner.

"But you didn't even say a word . . . not one single word."

"Oh, but I didn't have to, not with Branson going on about the 'oppressed' people and O'Brien declaring that every man in the book was a dirty scoundrel."

Anna chuckled. "And don't forget Mr. Carson's lecture about how to not end up in debt like Pip."

Now it was John's turn to laugh. "Or Mrs. Patmore deciding to drop in and give her view on men. Who knew her and O'Brien were of the same mind?"

"I think we missed something while in Scotland. At least, Mrs. Hughes's opinions were sound."

"I would expect nothing less," John agreed as they neared their cottage's front stoop. "Do you have plans to reconvene this book club of yours?"

He unlocked the door and held it open for her. "I think so, though we might need a break to gather ourselves. Would you be up for it?"

"I wouldn't miss it; such entertainment is hard to come by." John took a seat on the wing back chair near the door. He began to unlace his shoes. Anna was strict. No mud was to be tracked through the cottage. "But you must promise me that we don't read anymore Dickens."

Anna grinned down at him as she kicked off her own shoes. "Reading Dickens was quite a chore for you, wasn't it?"

"That it was."

"Well, then perhaps we should read something else to rid your mind of it." She sauntered over to their bookcase and began to run her fingers over the bindings.

"What do you mean . . . read something tonight? I'm awfully tired."

Anna found the book she was searching for. She turned around with book in hand and an impish grin on her face. His wife was definitely up to something.

"Oh really, are you sure you don't want to do some reading? How about if I start?" She opened up a small book and began flipping through the pages. Even from across the room, John could tell what book it was. One of his favorites. _The Collected Works of Robert Burns._

She found her page, and with a grin that was more saucy than impish, she began:

"**O John, come kiss me now, now, now; O John, my luve, come kiss me now;"**

The smile that lingered on his face grew even broader. He had forgotten about this song. God, how he loved Burns. His words always seemed to find the beat of his heart. Maybe it was his lineage; he was Scottish on his mother's side after all.

"**O John, come kiss me by and by, For weel ye ken the way to woo,"**

Despite being tired only a moment ago, John hoisted himself out of his chair and made his way over to his wife with renewed energy.

"**O some will court and compliment, And ither some will kiss and daut; **

John came up behind Anna. His lips brushed the back of her neck. Her breath faltered with the sensation.

"**But I mak o'my gudeman, My ain gudeman, it is nae faute."**

Anna struggled to get the lyrics out. John's mouth wandered up to her ear and gently tugged on the lobe.

"Now, what did you ask me to do?" He breathed into her ear.

Anna's head lolled back and whispered unevenly. "Kiss me, John. Kiss me now."

He turned her into his embrace for a soft and knowing kiss. The book slipped from her fingers. A slight thud echoed in the dark, silent room. Her empty hands snaked around his neck to bring him even closer. He opened his stance to accommodate her body. His hands began to roam.

Then she pulled away, out of his arms completely. She grabbed his hand and began to lead him down the short hallway. "I think we should take this book club to a location more suitable for our 'discussion'."

"I must agree. Who wants to sit at a table when other more appealing places exist?" John trailed behind. He caught up with her just as she turned the corner to their bedroom.

"But unlike earlier, you must be an active participant in this meeting?" Anna dragged his jacket off his shoulders as his hands wandered to the back of her dress.

He found the zipper and brought it down in record time. Her dress fell to the floor in a quiet cascade. "How's that? Am I being active enough?"

His lips found her neck again and her fingers went to work on his waistcoat.

"Best book club . . .," Anna gasped. ". . . ever."

John couldn't agree more.

* * *

_**A/N: Yes, believe it or not Burns did write a song entitled "John Kiss Me Now". He also wrote another called "Anna, Thy Charms". On a side note, I read somewhere Brendan Coyle did confirm that in one of his reading scenes, Bates was reading Burns. **_

_**Don't worry I haven't given up on Across the Universe! The next chapter should be up soon. I'm going to try and post before I head out on cross-country trek in a mini-van filled with my crazy children next week. No promises, but I'll try! **_


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